


Dinner at Number 12 Grimmauld Place

by Wonderfulworld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Social Situations, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, F/M, Fluff, Gryffindors are friendly, Hermione is trying her best, I wrote this sick with COVID so who knows if it makes sense, POV Draco Malfoy, Porn with too much plot, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27644059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderfulworld/pseuds/Wonderfulworld
Summary: “Don’t ruin it.” She says, softly but insistent and I shake my head. I want to tell her I wasn't. I was trying to fix something. Anything. But I realise that a relationship built on insults, slurs and violence may not be worth fixing so I nod finally.Draco Malfoy learns to play nice with the Gryffindors, sort of.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Dinner at Number 12 Grimmauld Place

Harry Potter had been the first to congratulate me after the Daily Prophet posted their article: Dashing Death Eater, Draco, Ducks Detainment. It wasn’t some of their best work, I had finally concluded after reading through it four times, but it did the job well enough. I had it framed and hung it right in the entrance way of my new flat, the first thing I added when my assigned ministry worker handed me the keys and apparated away. Potter’s owl had arrived during my third read through and I left the letter on my side for three hours, unsure what kind of hexes or curses may be lying inside. I had been assured, multiple times, that my mail would be checked but even so I wasn’t convinced that The Boy Who Lived couldn’t sneak illegal mail through any system he wanted to. Day by day more tales would come out about The Golden Trios adventures and each day they were proven to be true. I’d heard rumours of some of their “missions” around Hogwarts corridors, others I’d heard straight from the mouth of Death Eaters but now they were plastered across newspaper articles and Ministry propaganda and they seemed even more like works of fiction. I finally worked up the courage, ripping open the small envelope. Inside was a dinner invitation; a short, typical, printed card containing the date, time and location of the meal. At the bottom in slanted handwriting he’d written; “Don’t be a dick about it now Malfoy, I know you have nothing else on your social calendar.” and signed it. 

I wasn’t going to go, I decided immediately, writing a quick excuse; “I have a previous engagement.” before signing it and sending it away with my owl. It returned unopened and I tried again, perhaps he was busy saving the world or breaking into secure government facilities with the ginger muppet and the- My owl flew back before I could fully form my thought, perhaps for the best. There was still a week to go before the dinner and the Daily Prophet had been advertising his recent placement in the Auror department for months, how hard could it be to sneak in and leave a note on his desk? 

Almost impossible. Apparently, due to the overflowing amount of moles in the ministry during both the Second and First Wizarding wars, (and I couldn’t help but wonder if a certain group of Gryffindors had been the final straw on the proverbial camel) the Ministry was cracking down on security. I found myself in Auror custody surprisingly quickly, sitting opposite Luna Lovegood as she pulled out a gold glitter pen with a unicorn bobble on the end and asked me if there was a certain reason I was lashing out. I sneered at her before realising that perhaps it gave the wrong impression. 

“I just need to return a dinner invite.” I twisted the family ring on my middle finger quickly until she spotted the movement and I placed my hands under the desk. “I’m busy that night.” I realised a little too late that as my rehabilitation officer she was probably more aware of my schedule than I was, despite her scatterbrained ways, and was unlikely to fall for it. Instead she smiled. 

“Oh, I got my invite too.” She closed her notebook, a pink unicorn covering that particular piece of stationary and I rolled my eyes internally at it. Even Hagrid had been enough of a teacher for me to know the ridiculousness of a pink unicorn. My eyes rose from the notebook to hers and she looked at me for a moment, intrigued before coming to a realisation. “If you’re worried you won’t know anyone, I can deal with that.” I opened my mouth to say something and then closed it again. My main concern was about going, I hadn’t even thought about the social aspects once I was trapped there. She nodded seriously, flipping open a page to write a small note I couldn’t read before slamming it shut again, clicking her pen and placing them both in what looked like a bag made from her old Hogwarts robes. She stopped before leaving the room. “I do hope you come along.” Then she smiled a little and left, her gaudy owl earrings swaying dramatically beside her. 

When the evening finally arrived I was ready thirty minutes in advance. I crossed off the event on my calendar, figuring it was too late to turn back now, and stared at my fireplace, dressed in my least formal suit. I couldn’t be the first one there; the image of Potter and I awkwardly avoiding each other’s eyes as we scrambled for conversation topics filled me with dread but the image of arriving an hour after the rest and each one turning to face me as I stumbled out of the floo was almost enough for me to quit altogether. I step into the fireplace, shout for Grimmauld Place and throw down the powder before I can chicken out. 

I cough a little, stumbling as predicted out of the fireplace and into the large kitchen. I look around, for a second almost sure I had shouted the wrong address. Then possibly the ugliest elf I’ve ever seen pokes its head over the table and I breath a sigh of relief. Then it runs straight for me screaming about “the most noble house of Black” and I trip on a chair behind me to avoid it. 

“Kreacher!” Ginny Weasley is standing at the top of the stairs, pushing a pair of silver earrings into her ears as she chastises the house elf. He immediately backs away, bowing low to each of us in turn before refocusing himself on the burning stove and boiling pots. I stand to my full height again, no longer cowering from an animal the height of my knees, and swallow dryly as the redhead descends the stairs. “You’re early.” 

We both look at the clock hanging on one wall and I shove my hands in my pockets as she turns to inspect the food on the counter and stove. She dips a finger in what looks like melted chocolate before she’s slapped out of the way by Kreacher. She licks the chocolate off absentmindedly as she wanders over to a shelf and pulls down a bottle of wine. I stand awkwardly, not trying to watch her intently but finding little else to do. She holds it out to me and snorts out a laugh, my eyes have widened at her sudden movement. 

“You definitely need a drink, come upstairs.” She waves at the house elf and he waves back as sarcastically as possible. I nod stiffly at him and his eyes practically gleam up at me in return. Ginny walks me up the stairs and I stop when we reach the hallway. From what my mother had told me the place had been practically a ruin, left to Sirius Black as he rotted in Azkaban. Clearly the Potter and Black fortune combined left the couple with more than enough Galleons for renovations. The walls are covered in bright, intricate wallpaper of winding plants and I wonder for a second whether they’d managed to pull down the Family Tree or if my pointy face is residing on the walls somewhere still. Ginny seems unphased by my awe, although a self-satisfied smirk passes her lips for a moment before she calls up the grand staircase. 

“People are arriving, Potter, and you’re being a bad host!” There’s a vague noise of someone tripping before Potter appears out of a door on the landing, desperately flattening his hair down. His glasses are missing and he peers over the banister, squinting at me. 

“Who is it?” He says, just as Ginny shouts “Glasses!” and he retreats back through the door. The noises of him tripping over what sounded like a painful piece of furniture don’t deter her as she waves me towards a sitting room. It is just as well decorated as the entrance hall and I examine it all slowly as she sits herself comfortably on a perfectly sized spot on the couch, I realise she’s forgone putting on shoes as she tucks her tight-clad feet underneath herself. 

There is a large cardboard box behind the sofa she’s huddled on, it sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the well placed decor of the rest of the house and my eyes keep being drawn back to it until I assume it is luggage they’ve yet to unpack. The sounds of The Chosen One plodding down the stairs bring me back to my senses and I step back to sit on the edge of the sofa behind me. He enters the room, blinks at the sight of me and then walks across to sit without a word next to Ginny. I am suddenly glad she’d passed me the bottle, it gives me something to do with my hands. 

“I was just saying how it looked like Malfoy needed a drink.” Ginny elbows Harry in the ribs and gives him a look which he immediately understands. He pulls his arm back from around her shoulders and summons three glasses from the drinks table in the corner. He holds out his hand for the bottle in mine and I stand slightly to hand it to him, watching as he fills each glass halfway. He passes me mine and then retrieves his and Ginny’s, raising his in the air quickly before pouring almost half of it down his throat. I sip at mine slowly. 

“I’m sorry I’m so early. I didn’t-” Harry and Ginny both shake their heads at the same time and Harry places his glass on the low table next to him. 

“Gryffindors; bravery and all that nonsense but we’re not particularly punctual.” Ginny nods along to his words, drinking from her own glass and the glimpse of a smile passes Harry’s lips. 

“Even Granger?” The words tumble out of my mouth and I attempt to flood them back in with long gulps of wine. The couple both look mildly offended by the idea before sharing an amused look. 

“Especially Hermione!” She proclaims as Harry chuckles around his own comment: “The only way she could keep up with her Third Year timetable was through manipulating time magic.” 

My eyebrows furrow, that story hadn’t made it into the Prophet yet. Harry opens his mouth, clearly to make another quip, but is interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” Ginny calls and I hear the door open as they both stand. The Gryffindor idiot streak is clearly showing, I left my door with at least three layers of wards whether I was in the flat or not. Luna Lovegood removes her bright turquoise coat, a favourite of hers that I’d seen before, and Harry takes it from her. Then a familiar face steps out from behind Luna and grins at me with pearly teeth. Blaise Zabini is pulling off his coat and handing it to Harry Potter with all his usual airs and graces. He waves at Ginny who waves back and then sits himself heavily onto the seat beside me as Luna pulls an intricately wrapped package from her bag. 

“Malfoy. You look as miserable as usual.” He doesn’t look at me, eyes admiring the room, but he can’t fight his smile. 

“Zabini. You look like a prick.” I place my glass on the table. “As usual.” He looks over at me before shoving his shoulder into mine companionably. “How long has it been?” 

“Long enough.” Ginny hands him his own glass of wine and he takes it with a mouthed thank you before turning back to me. “I didn’t think you would come. I bet Luna something not becoming this particular environment that you’d chicken out.” 

“I almost did.” We both look over to where Ginny is now unwrapping what looks like two vials of potion. Harry and Ginny share a confused look. 

“It's a fertility potion!” Luna’s voice is eager and helpful and everyone in the room except Blaise, including myself, chokes. 

“Thanks Luna.” Harry finally says, after a long coughing fit, and through slightly watery eyes. Blaise takes small sips of his wine, smiling to himself. 

“Maybe I set the standard of conversation too high.” Blaise mutters and I smile back slightly as Ginny wraps the vials up again and sends them flying up to their room. Blaise watches as Luna turns on the spot, showing Harry the full expanse of her puffy skirt. “Fantastic witch, brilliant shag, not the best at gift giving. Better than you though I bet.” 

“Pardon?” 

“Seriously though, what did you get them?” Blaise turns to me and I furrow my eyebrows. “Did you forget?” 

“Forget what?”

“It’s a Christmas party you fucking idiot. Did you not bring presents?” He slaps me on the shoulder and I splutter, suddenly overwhelmed.

“You didn’t bring presents!” Is the best I could come up with, Blaise seems almost disappointed before hissing back. 

“I didn’t have to. My date did.” I bury my hands into my hair, blushing as he laughs beside me. “I’m sure they won’t mind.” 

“What the fuck was I meant to bring them?” 

“I don’t know. A candle?” 

“A candle?” 

“It’s better than nothing.” I’m saved by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Ron Weasley’s voice echoes down the hall and I can safely say I have never been so pleased to hear him. 

“Ginny, we’re bloody starving!” He bursts into the room carrying a large stack of presents, all neatly folded and wrapped. Ginny and Harry take some of the pile from him as Luna moves to sit beside Blaise, he leans in and places a quick kiss on her shoulder before he thinks anyone might notice. I stand up to give them space and end up face to face with Hermione Granger, fresh through the door. 

She is still wearing her knitted woolen hat, coat and gloves and is carrying a bottle of whiskey. The tip of her nose is red from the cold and I want so badly to stick out a finger and touch it. Perhaps find some other activity to warm her up. She blinks up at me, ignorant of the chaos surrounding her as Ron drops a particularly large package, and she sways a little. I grab the bottle, hoping it will steady us both. I can feel the heat from her hands through her mittens as her fingers twitch and I make the mistake of looking directly into her eyes. Harry finally appears beside us and interrupts my less than appropriate thoughts. 

“I invited Mal- Draco.” He says it casually, like it doesn’t indicate some kind of tearing in the fabric of reality and perhaps it doesn’t for him now he’s all mature and forgiving. My eyes stay fixed on Granger as she stays frozen. It’s like staring into a mirror, the ways her eyes are dead straight on mine and I wonder if she’s occluding as hard as I’m trying to. 

“Yes.” She nods, her eyes flicking to Harry finally. I will them back to me and she looks up at me once more. Her fingers grip at the bottle tighter.

“And Blaise.” Harry points towards Blaise who waves. Hermione is still looking through me and nods but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge him. Ron coughs awkwardly behind me and she lets go of the bottle suddenly. She looks away from me and spots something over my shoulder that makes her blush deeply. She’s embarrassed herself, acting so scared of an ex-death eater in a room full of Gryffindors. Ginny is suddenly eager to make loud and obnoxious conversation with Luna who responds similarly as Hermione pulls off her hat and mittens, keeping her furrowed eyebrows and concerned gaze stuck to the ground. She looks back up at me suddenly. 

“I didn’t bring you anything.” I pretend I hadn’t been watching her closely and stumble for an answer. Blaise saves me. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it Granger, Draco only just realised that it’s December.” Blaise says it too loudly. Harry snorts out a laugh and I feel everyone else in the room look at me with amused surprise. I rip my eyes from her finally and she sits on the sofa. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” I say and Ginny groans dramatically but I can tell she’s teasing. “I’ll take Christmas wishes at the end of the evening and get back to you by the New Year.” 

“We’ll dress you up like Santa and take turns sitting on your lap.” Luna chuckles and I grin at her for a second, glad she’s playing along. Ron laughs at her and it shocks me into silence, I sit back besides Blaise and watch as Weasley stretches an arm across Granger’s shoulders and grips his fingers into her tightly. 

“I wouldn’t worry about getting Hermione any more gifts.” He chuckles, taking his own glass from Harry before looking me directly in the eye. “I’m sure she’s pretty satisfied as she is.” His tone suggests something I don’t want to understand and then he winks at her bright red face and it clicks.

I am angry in a range of different ways, the most pressing that I’d been wasting Galleons buying Pansy gifts all that time when I could’ve been performing whatever sexual act had got the Golden Girl shifting uncomfortably in her seat opposite me. Harry takes the bottle of whiskey I hadn’t realised I was still holding tight too. 

“A present?” Harry directs the question to Granger and Weasley and presents the bottle to the rest of us like an auctioneer. She sits up in her seat, her cheeks fading back to their normal, paler pink, back to herself now the conversation is comfortable again and she’s not trapped in conversation with me. 

“Post dinner drinks. Anything left over you can keep.” She grins at him and Harry quirks an eyebrow, reading the label with an impressed look on his face. 

“Well, isn’t that a shame.” All heads turn to Blaise, as he wanted them to, and he flashes us all a confident grin. “None if you ever made it down to the dungeons but I’ll warn you now. We could drink you all under the table.” I thank whatever gods exist for the small mercies of obnoxious Slytherins. 

Ron and Harry raise eyebrows at each other, as if they know something I don’t. Ginny pulls a similar face but I don’t quite catch it as Luna scoffs. It has an uncharacteristic dryness to it and we all turn to her. 

“Ravenclaw had a revision tradition. Every practice question you got wrong, you did a shot.” Ron laughs again, not at her but with her, his laugh by far the loudest of the room. 

“All that running head first into danger is a lot easier when you’re sloshed. Trust me.” He sounds almost boastful, if it wasn’t for the damaging truth below it. Hermione shoots him a disapproving glare and it makes me laugh more than his comment had. 

“We’re not talking about an unhealthy alcohol dependency, Ronald.” Her tone is serious but she smiles through it so everyone laughs along. 

“I’m not sure this is what the sorting hat meant by inter house unity but I guess it’ll have to do.” Ginny chimes in and everyone’s chuckles die down a little as they think through her words. Harry claps his hands together suddenly and everyone sits up straight. 

“Presents.” Harry says sharply. Blaise mock cheers and everyone else nods excitedly. Granger presses the heel of her hand into Weasley’s knee as she stands up and claps her own hands together. 

“Us first.” Ron leans back in his seat as she makes her way over to their neatly stacked and wrapped gift pile. She works her way through them, checking labels and handing them out. Each gift is the same shape, sized a little differently or in different patterned wrapping paper but I am immediately sure of what they all are: Books. 

Luna unwraps hers first, squealing with delight at a muggle sewing book and a rare textbook about mythical creature conspiracies. Blaise looks over the sewing book, flipping it around in his hands before smiling at Granger. 

“Ah! I can make my personalised Gryffindor robes. I’ll finally feel like my true and unique self.” He grins and I elbow him. 

“It’s a bit late to come out as a closeted Gryffindor now.” I quip. 

“What can I say, I’m just feeling the love.” We chuckle to each other and I worry that we have upset the rest of them; The Gryffindors. Instead Ginny leans in conspiratorially and whispers. 

“I’ll let you borrow my robes if I can try on yours.” She winks at us both and everyone but Harry laughs. 

“Actually we’re still using them.” He chokes. He freezes suddenly, realising what he’s said and Ron pulls a face of disgust. The others have finished unwrapping their presents by this point, all holding up perfectly crafted books to fit their personalities. Perhaps her book idea isn’t too bad, I wonder what she’d pick for me. Ron looks pleased with everyone’s reaction despite how obvious it is how little he’d had to do with it.

Ginny and Harry are next, and distribute a range of handmade and expensive gifts, Ginny’s large family upbringing and Harry’s unquestionable wealth obvious and I hold back a scoff. I watch each guest’s face as they open their gifts, trying not to pause too long as the corners of Granger’s mouth curl up and she holds a large book to her chest along with a necklace charmed to spin like a time turner. 

I laugh awkwardly as Ginny throws a soft package my way and I catch it, looking at the pair with confusion. Harry nods at me to unwrap it and the entire room turns to me. I look away from Granger’s intense eyes and rip off the paper like an eager child. It’s Buckbeak, until I realise it isn’t; it’s a small child’s Hippogriff toy. The Potters look at me with trepidation and I feel the entire party draw in a deep breath. I let out a chuckle as I inspect it, turning and squeezing it in my hands to admire it. They let out their breath with their own light chuckles. 

“Make this yourself, Potter?” I add a small amount of my childish malice into the last word, out of habit I suppose. He rolls his eyes before gesturing to Luna who starts pulling out her own presents. I sit the stuffed animal between Blaise and I and look up to find Granger watching me like you would a small child, a strange pride in her eyes that I don’t want to witness. Blaise shoves another gift into my arms and I open it. It’s a notebook, covered in silver sequins. I run a hand along them and the sequins flip over to reveal an octopus, it’s tentacles moving a little and it’s eye winking at me before the sequins turn themselves back over to their silver side again. I look up and Granger is showing Weasley her own notebook, an otter instead. The other’s have received various other strange gifts but my eyes are drawn back to Granger’s eerily similar notebook. Luna leans over Blaise to whisper in my ear, pulling my eyes away from the Gryffindor sofa. 

“I know you don’t have a patronus yet but it’s my best guess.” I grin at her and she smiles back, retreating back around Blaise who says nothing and avoids my gaze. He was always the worst with emotions, too many father issues (quite literally). 

As the excitement of gifts died down, Ginny starts collecting the wrapping paper before setting it aflame and placing it in the fireplace to my right. I rather wish I’d sprung out of that one instead of the dusty pit downstairs and make a mental note for next time before realising how absurd the idea of returning is. 

Harry waves everyone through to the dining room, a long room filled with an equally long table. Candles float above head height along with boughs of holly and I do a quick scan for mistletoe. The evening has been bearable so far but the idea of locking lips with a Weasley still turns my stomach. The meal is decent, Kreacher is by far not the worst cook I’ve ever lived with and the conversation stays light. Potter keeps steering the conversation back to Hogwarts, something we have in common, before it turns to the only other thing we had in common; war. Every so often one of them will point to me and in a teasing tone demand a preposterously expensive gift. I laugh and keep track of their requests in the back of my mind. During the main course, some kind of cooked bird with potatoes not worth mentioning, Granger starts telling a story about our Fourth Year. Her eyes light up and she moves her hands animatedly as she fills our heads with images of Victor Krum, International Quidditch player and, previous to that year, something of an inspiration to me, tripping over his feet as he asked her to the ball in broken English. Apparently they’d had something of a misunderstanding and it had taken almost three tries for him to get it right and then- 

“He just kind of stayed there.” She mimicks the Bulgarian leaning in for a kiss, lips pouting out and eyes wide open. “And I wasn’t about to lean in or anything so we just stood there for a couple of moments before he shook his head-” She shakes her own, “-blinked a couple times-” she does so, with wide dramatic movements, “and slumped off to get more punch.” She laughs at the memory, beside her Ron grimaces. I assume because of some sort of wild jealousy before he groans loudly and complains about her, once again, ruining the image of the famous seeker. 

At dessert Ginny moves from her seat at the opposite end of the table beside Harry to take the empty chair beside me. I stop running my spoon through the chocolate mousse as she elbows me softly. 

“If you want to apologise to someone, you should do it before that someone does it for you.” I look at her, more than a little confused, and decide to go with the safest option. 

“I’m sorry?” She shakes her head.

“Some people are a little impatient.” She looks pointedly at Granger who’s eyes shoot over to us for a second before she starts downing the last of her wine. “Even more so when drunk.” I watch unabashed as Granger licks the red droplets from her lips and swallows. 

Rather abruptly, Ginny starts pulling people out of seats and directing them back to the sitting room. I finish my own drink and start to stand when she pushes me back into my seat. My eyebrows furrow and I turn to spit some generic, offensive remark at her before I hear a chair squeak across the floor behind me. Granger is the only one left, standing across the room and she stops looking at me when I turn around, her eyes glued to the floor. 

“I-” I start on my speech, the apologetic one that I’ve perfectly rehearsed and written. The one where I mention how cowardly I’d been as a teenager and how talented she was, without sounding obsessed with her. The speech that I’d written after she’d spoken at my trial and I’d set fire to the drawing room whilst my mother watched with nervous eyes. The speech that didn’t mention how well the Hogwarts skirts had always fitted her or how much her lips needed biting by someone other than herself. The speech that didn’t count how many hours I’d spent in the library, my homework fully completed, and watched as she fumbled with mountains of books like a muggle or jumped to reach a book on a shelf a little too high, her skirt sweeping along the back of her legs just a fraction higher than usual. That speech, the one where I’m in love with her, has been written out immaculately, rolled up and tied with a red ribbon before being shoved under my pillow. She’ll never hear that one. 

She storms out of the room before I can even get through the second word of my apologetic speech, the one mother has approved. She shoves past me on her way through the door and I let out a sigh of relief. I find the closest sink; a small bathroom below the stairs, and splash cold water on my face before making my way back to the sitting room to join the others. 

Apparently “Post dinner drinks” mean a lot more to the Gryffindors than I thought. Harry is pouring whisky into shot glasses that I am certain hadn’t come with the house. Ron is crouched in a corner, wrestling with what looks like multiple parts of a torn apart Christmas tree. Hermione pulls a small muggle radio from her bag and it immediately starts playing Christmas tunes that I don’t recognise. Ginny drags the large box in the corner to the center of the room and Luna is standing on Blaise’s shoulders to stick decorations up on the high ceiling with cellotape. I watch, deeply confused, before Harry hands me a shot and explains. 

“It’s a tradition. Muggle Christmas. We put the decorations up without magic, play muggle music and drink until we pass out.” He downs his shot   
and points at mine until I do the same. “We usually take them all down the next morning, it’s always in a bloody state, but it’s fun while it lasts.” Luna almost slips and kicks Blaise in the face but he grabs her ankles tight and then slides her legs down until she’s sitting on his shoulders. 

Ginny hands Luna another piece of tinsel and she sticks up one side of it before taking the shot Ginny holds up in her other hand and swigging it. Blaise grips Luna’s ankles tightly and shakes his head at Ginny’s offer to pour the alcohol down his throat herself. I cannot remember a time in our lives when Blaise wasn’t drinking. Ginny shrugs before downing it herself with a subtle shake of her head. 

“‘Mione!” Ron is struggling with the base of what looks like half a Christmas tree. “There’s a box upstairs, second drawer to your left in the tapestry room, it should have bolts in it that fit here.” Hermione nods and brushes past me on the way out. Ron sighs, inspecting part of the tree before dropping it. Harry watches him and then turns to me. 

“Actually, Malfoy, she’s gonna bring down the wrong box. It’s on the top of the cupboards, it’s where we keep the tree normally. She’s not gonna be able to reach it herself. Go help out will you?” I nod, not really in a position to back out seeing as I’m the only person standing around doing nothing. I walk slowly up the stairs though, hoping she’ll find the box without me and will run back down past me, preferably pushing me over the banister as she does so. I make it to the room in one piece and sigh. 

She’s not even looking for the box, her eyes fixed on what I’d suspected earlier. My face on Potter’s walls. I look snootier than I imagine myself to be and my ears are slightly Elfish but it’s certainly me. I cough into my hand to get her attention, not passing the doorway. She looks over at me and then back to my likeness, cocking her head with a smile. Her hair’s been pinned back from her face for most of the evening but curls have started escaping, framing her features once again. I stick my hands in my pockets and focus on grounding the bottoms of my shoes to the carpet. 

“You always looked so haughty.” A laugh bubbles out of her and she looks at me again. “I’m glad Harry kept it, it’ll keep you humble.” My feet carry me forward without me asking and I don’t acknowledge her as I stretch up to pull down the box, right where Potter told me I’d find it. I can do it. I can take the box downstairs and hand it over to Weasley without even looking at her. 

“I’m surprised you’re in support of it.” Her head whips around to look at me and I dig my fingers into the cardboard of the box. She doesn’t ask me to clarify but I continue anyway. “Considering the family history.” She wraps an arm around her waist, clutching at her other arm and looking back at the tree. She’s not looking at my picture anymore, instead tilting her head to look up as far as the tree goes. 

“I think history’s important.” I don’t know how to reply. History to me was Professor Binns droning on and winning tic-tac-toe against Crabbe and Goyle every time and playing footsie with Pansy and not watching as a certain Gryffindor scribbled across lengths and lengths of parchment. Apparently it meant more to her, I didn’t want to ask. But I do. 

“How so?” I am staring at myself on the wall, I can practically see my face forming a sneer to spit out Mudblood in that awful tone. I remember exactly what I looked like, the way my nose curls up and my eyes squint slightly, and exactly how long I spent practicing that in the many mirrors around the mansion. She’s inspecting the scorch mark over Sirius Black’s name and hums slightly to herself. 

“Our past indicates our future.” I feel her look up at me but refuse to be baited by wide golden eyes and chestnut curls, I focus on the sneering Malfoy like I’m practicing in the mirror again. “Wouldn’t you agree?” I give in and look down, I can feel my nails piercing the cardboard. 

“I wanted to-“ I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry and I force out a small huff of a laugh. “I guess I left it a little late. I wanted to say-“ So many things. I wanted to say so many different things but once again she doesn’t let me. 

She kisses me square on the mouth instead of leaving this time and I don’t know which is better. Her lips are pressed together tightly, like she’s disappointed but they're against mine and I stumble backwards. In all of my practiced apologies and daydreams and nightmares I’d never considered this possibility. It was a ridiculous notion that made my head spin. I’d prepared for a slap, or a punch, or a hex; I'd mostly prepared for some kind of bodily harm. She finally pulled back, swaying like she had earlier. I opened my mouth, hoping the movement would encourage my brain to reconnect, and she looked back at my pointy face against the dark blue wall. 

“Don’t ruin it.” She says, softly but insistent and I shake my head. I want to tell her I wasn't. I was trying to fix something. Anything. But I realise that a relationship built on insults, slurs and violence may not be worth fixing so I nod finally. 

“Fresh start.” I say and she is smiling again and I forget to breathe for a moment. Then she pries the box from my fingers and takes it back downstairs to her boyfriend, the one building her a Christmas tree like a muggle, and leaves me breathing loudly in and out of my mouth. 

I hear as she re-enters the sitting room, and then there’s stifled laughter and I stiffen. I can practically see the Weasel chortling as she explains how I’d tried to kiss her, tried to steal her away from a war hero. I’ve never seen it myself and had no reason other than the distant memory of a Skeeter article to believe that she could ever be malicious but Weasley’s laugh is the loudest once again and my face heats up. Luna would call it paranoia and PTSD and other words that I don’t want to understand and she’d tap me on the center of my forehead, right between my eyebrows, and ask why I’d assume someone would ever want to cause that much harm for no good reason. I would shrug and make some lame excuse to rewind the conversation, perhaps crack a joke that she won’t fall for. And I will, when she comes to find me on Monday, with her glitter and her unicorns, and sits across from me in my sparse apartment. But I won’t do it now. 

Instead I’ll walk back down the stairs as fast as I can without making a racket and pause right outside the sitting room door, now half closed. I’ll watch Granger tip one shot after the other down her throat before Ron leans to whisper something into her ear that makes her blush like she did right after she kissed me. Blaise will notice me, in the shadows like he always has, and will nod slightly before winking and turning back to grin down at Lovegood, letting me leave.

I plan for all of that and it executes itself out perfectly. What I don’t plan for is the perfectly wrapped present on my kitchen table the next morning, with the ribbons and the sellotape. I keep my eager fingers to my sides, although I’m sure of what’s in it and put it under the bare Christmas tree I've summoned. An hour later my Hippogriff and notebook arrive, rewrapped but labelled with a small note. 

“New Years at ours Malfoy. Don’t make Ginny hunt you down.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm literally so ill. If you notice typos etc let me know. Otherwise comments and kudos please xx


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